


I'll Keep You

by LadyStormcrow



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Filling In Gaps Between Canon Media, Gelfling Wedding Headcanons, Implied Sexual Content, Makeover, Only Without The Married Part, She/Her SkekLach, SkekLach And SkekOk Are An Old Married Couple, SkekLach Deals With Gendered Gelfling Fashion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStormcrow/pseuds/LadyStormcrow
Summary: A mishap on the journey to Ha'rar leaves skekLach in need of assistance - and the Vapra are eager to help. The Collector's endured a lot in her duty to the Empire, but never something like this.
Relationships: skekLach/skekOk (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	I'll Keep You

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a silly idea between myself and CandytheMew about skekLach receiving a Vapra-style makeover somehow became an attempt to explain the discrepancy in tithings between 'Songs of the Seven Gelfling Clans' and 'Age of Resistance'. Hope you enjoy, Candy! <3

“I still don’t see why _I_ have to be there.”

The Emperor looked at skekLach as if she were a bratty childling complaining about bedtime. “Because you are the Collector. You will be in Ha’rar regardless, and the future All-Maudra will be insulted if you refuse.”

“I could leave early. Someone has to keep an eye on the tithes -”

“We are _not_ sending another carriage. You _will_ attend the wedding, and you _will_ make a good impression on the Gelfling, or you will suffer for it when the tithing is over!” He pointed his scepter at her. “Have I made myself clear?”

SkekLach hesitated. A hundred trine ago, she thought, the Emperor wouldn’t have cared if she declined the All-Maudra’s invitation to the wedding of her eldest daughter, which had been planned for the day after the spring tithing. He would have been content just letting the Scroll-Keeper and Ritual-Master go (the Gelfling liked them better anyway), and that would have been the end of the matter. 

But then the Conqueror had come back, with his urRu by his side and a mad story about how they were all doomed if they didn’t become one again. SkekGra had been silenced (very pointedly) and cast out, but ever since then, it seemed nothing had gone right. 

In the following hundred trine, the cluster of scars that marred skekLach’s face (a souvenir from when she’d been hit by a blast of poisoned shrapnel while fighting rebellious Gruenaks) had started to fester. The Crystal had grown weaker and darker, they’d all started aging faster, and the Emperor’s fear of losing control over even the pettiest things had grown much, much worse. 

It had been a long time since she’d been on the battlefield, but skekLach knew when a fight was hopeless. If it was a choice between wasting an extra day in Ha’rar, or coming home and facing the Needler (or worse), she’d take the less painful of two evils.

She bowed her head. “Perfectly clear, Sire.” 

“Good. You are dismissed.” 

SkekLach turned, ready to head for her chambers to pack. As she crossed the throne room, however, she heard skekSo call after her. 

“And one more thing! Make sure you wear your best outfit. The Gelfling will all be wearing their finest, and I will not have them outshining one of us.” 

SkekLach thought of her formal robes, so heavy with gems and precious metals that they jingled when she moved. They were tolerable to wear for parties in the Castle (the Ornamentalist always tried to make his creations comfortable as well as beautiful, lest the other Skeksis make their discomfort known on skekEkt’s own skin), but out on the road they would just be a burden. 

She turned her head so the Emperor wouldn’t see the face she made, and walked away grumbling. 

* * *

Later that evening, as the two of them shared a pot of _ta_ in his room after dinner, skekOk tried to cheer her up. 

“Come now, it won’t be as bad as you’re imagining. Another day in Ha’rar means another day of having the most cultured of the Gelfling wait on us. They’re sure to have only the finest food for the future All-Maudra’s wedding feast. And no doubt they’ve hired excellent musicians for the occasion.” 

SkekLach pulled a bottle of golden glass from a pouch on her robe, and poured liquor into her _ta_ with a hearty glug. “If one of the Gelfling asks me to dance, I’m gonna bite them.” 

The Scroll-Keeper chuckled. “I hope you’ll allow _me_ a dance, at least?” 

“... Fine. If you really want it.” 

Her expression softened, just a little. Without words, they drew closer to each other on the couch, and he draped one arm comfortably around her. 

“Do you remember the celebration we threw after the victory at Hartaaq Island?” he asked, nuzzling the tip of his narrow beak against her cheek. 

The Collector smiled. “When we drove out the islanders and slaughtered their whole herd of sebrie. We all ate roast sebrie until we were sick for days.” She licked her beak, remembering the tender, smoky taste. 

“And _you_ cut quite the figure out on the dance floor.” Slowly, he started to remove her jeweled cowl. Once her neck was exposed, he gave it an affectionate nibble, bringing a raspy purr from her. “I couldn’t wait to get you away somewhere more private.” 

She stroked one talon under his chin fondly. “I wouldn’t call the musicians’ balcony all that private.” 

“No one disturbed us, did they? We had a wonderful night.” He chuckled again. “Even if your breath did stink of sebrie oil.” 

“Why you - !” 

She flicked his spectacles off his beak, but grinned as she did it. 

* * *

The journey to Ha’rar proved to be more of an adventure than any of them expected. 

As the carriage and its landstrider-mounted escorts had begun their ascent into the mountains, they’d found themselves ambushed by a pack of rakkida. Starved after the long, lean winter, the predators had set upon the caravan, undeterred by the landstriders’ hooves or the spears of the Gelfling guards. They were after the armaligs, and at first, it had seemed the poor creatures were doomed. 

Until skekLach joined the fight. 

With a sword in each hand, all her old instincts had come back. She’d charged into the fray with a vicious screech, slashing at fanged heads and dark, heaving hides. When she sank her teeth into the neck of the pack leader, the rest of the rakkida had realized the hunt was lost. The survivors had slunk away, disappearing back into the tree line, while skekLach dragged herself back into the carriage. 

She wasn’t injured, to skekOk’s relief. But the fine robes that the Emperor had insisted she wear were now a shredded ruin soaked with rakkida blood (and other, fouler fluids). One rakkida had even gotten close enough to tear off her cowl, leaving her sparse gray hair sticking up in blood-smeared tufts. 

Across from her, the Ritual-Master grimaced and held a perfumed handkerchief to his beak. “Why couldn’t you have let the Gelfling handle it? That’s why we _have_ guards.” 

“I wasn’t going to lose the armaligs,” she huffed. Short as it had been, the fight had left her tired and winded - another reminder that she was getting old. “If they got hurt, we’d be stuck here, and I’m not spending a moment longer on this trip than I have to.” 

And, she thought secretly, it had been nice to vent some anger without having to worry what the Gelfling would think of her. Let them remember that, while she might be old and pustulous, the Collector was still a Skeksis to be feared. 

SkekZok’s frown deepened. “Then I hope for all our sakes the trip goes quickly, because you _reek._ And you won’t have time to bathe before the tithing ceremony.” 

“Peh. Ha’rar already smells anyway.” 

In the seat beside her, skekOk shifted, adjusting the travel rug over his lap. He said nothing, but watched the Collector with an enigmatic smile. 

* * *

The spring tithe was always the sparsest of the four seasonal ceremonies. Few crops grew during this time, especially in the chilly lands the Vapra called home, so the Gelflings’ offerings consisted mostly of goods they’d crafted indoors over the cold unum. It was all stuff that would have kept just fine until next season, and skekLach wondered (not for the first time) if she could convince the Emperor to reduce the frequency of tithings, so she’d only have to make this tedious journey once or twice a trine. Maybe if she caught him in a good mood, and could make him believe it would make them look generous to the Gelfling …

As soon as they’d gotten a look at her, the Citadel servants had practically fallen over themselves to bring the Collector a basin of soapy water and a stack of cleaning cloths. She’d washed her face and hands as best she could (including a swish in her mouth to get out the last bits of blood and hair, which she’d noisily spat into a towel), but nothing could be done about her ruined clothes.

So she’d endured hours of dismayed looks and wrinkled noses from the tithe-givers, who all probably thought they were being subtle. By the time it was over, she’d been in a fouler mood than ever, and had to make a quick retreat before she lost her temper and carried out her threat to bite someone. 

For generations, the Citadel had maintained grand guest chambers for visiting Skeksis. SkekLach always took the one with the largest bed, and she entered the room now, planning to flop down on that soft mattress and not care if her robes or pustules stained the beautifully embroidered cover. 

Before she could, a Gelfling woman stepped in front of her. 

“Lord Collector -”

“What?!” skekLach snarled. 

The Gelfling cringed and drew back. She was about the same age as All-Maudra Serulyn, and resembled her closely (though really, most Vapra looked the same anyway), and skekLach vaguely recalled that Serulyn had a younger sister. 

“Lord Collector, with all respect, I could not help noticing that your valiant prowess in battle has left you -”

“A mess. Yes, I know. Thank you for calling attention to it,” she snapped. 

The All-Maudra’s sister cleared her throat, getting a little annoyed herself. “ _Actually,_ I came to invite you to join my niece’s wedding party. We have the clan’s finest tailors on hand, and they’d consider it the highest honor to make a new garment for you.” 

Now _that,_ skekLach hadn’t been expecting. 

They provided the materials, and might occasionally stitch up a rip or fix a piece of armor out in the field, but Gelfling did not make clothes for the Skeksis. They were too crude, too frugal, to create finery such as the Lords of the Crystal deserved. Only the Ornamentalist could be trusted to know the measurements and preferences of each Skeksis, and craft garments that would enhance their splendor in the eyes of their subjects. 

At least, that was what skekEkt had declared to the rest of them many, many times. But the Ornamentalist wasn’t here now, and her robes _did_ stink. And if she did as the Emperor said and made nice with the All-Maudra’s family, maybe he’d consider her idea about cutting back the tithings. 

“... All right. But I’m not counting on any miracles.” 

* * *

At the royal dinner that night, skekOk and skekZok took their usual places at the tall, elegant table that was kept for Skeksis, next to the smaller one where the All-Maudra and her family sat. SkekLach’s seat, however, remained empty. 

The Scroll-Keeper frowned as he swallowed his bite of glazed sabrefish. “Have you seen skekLach at all?”

The Ritual-Master shook his head. “Not since the tithing ceremony ended. Perhaps she’s taken her meal in her room?” 

“Perhaps, but I like to think she would have told me.” A servant passed with a jug of frostpear wine, and skekOk beckoned him over for a refill (a task that required the poor Gelfling to stand on tiptoe). “I’m a little concerned. She said none of the rakkida harmed her, but she could still be injured.” 

All-Maudra Serulyn was also absent, having gone to join the wedding preparations. Her husband, Paval, was presiding over the dinner, and he turned to the Lords. “As I understand it, the Lord Collector is spending the evening with my daughter’s wedding party. They thought she might like some new clothes.” 

Both Skeksis’ eyebrows rose. 

SkekOk spoke first. “... And she actually agreed?” 

“That’s what I heard.” The Gelfling man bowed his head politely. “I hope the Vapra’s efforts will please the Lords. We could never equal your own creations, but we’ll be honored to have the Collector wear our clan’s work even for a day.” 

The Ritual-Master whispered, “And I’ll be _fascinated_ to see the results.” 

* * *

SkekLach didn’t return to the guest rooms that night. By the time the First Brother rose, the other two Skeksis still hadn’t seen her. 

They joined the exclusive handful of wedding guests who had been invited to witness the ceremony itself, and trekked with them up to the bluffs above the city. There, in the Waystar Grove, the sacred Kira-Staba glowed gently under the clear morning sky, visible from the coast for miles around. The wind was calm, the air cold but not painfully so. In the humbler clans, wedding guests usually sat on the ground, but this was the All-Maudra’s daughter (and future All-Maudra herself) - cushions had been provided, including three large enough for a Skeksis. 

“Where _is_ skekLach?” skekOk whispered as they settled down. “I’m truly beginning to worry.” 

SkekZok started to say something, until he glanced down the path they’d come from. His eyes shot wide, and he pointed with one bony talon. 

SkekOk looked. His monocle dropped.

The spouses-to-be were making their way up the mountain, their attendants following behind them single file. And among the procession, standing out like an arduff in a herd of fizzgig, was the Collector. 

The Vapran tailors had accomplished an utterly heroic feat, that could not be denied. Working all through the night, they’d pieced together an enormous gown of lavender silk and silver-blue velvet. Veritable cloudbanks of ruffled white gauze covered the loose bodice and sleeves, sewn with tiny glittering beads to catch the eye and give a bit of weight. The silk brocade skirt was trimmed with ribbons, and its heavy folds swung about as skekLach walked, threatening to knock some unlucky Gelfling off the cliff. 

To replace her lost cowl, they’d made her a wimple in the style some Vapran ladies favored. It framed her beaked face with waves of delicate rose silk, and was crowned with even more ribbons, which floated behind her in all the colors of the aurora. Around her neck, a chain of enameled jewels shaped like fruit and flowers (judging by the different styles, it had probably been pieced together from smaller, Gelfling-sized necklaces) added the final touch. 

The whole ensemble was a grand effort, but placed together on the Collector, the effect was less _enchanting_ than it was _intimidating_. She looked like a snow-covered mountain that might at any moment send an avalanche crashing down to destroy every village on its slopes. 

As soon the wedding procession reached the grove, skekLach hurried away as if she feared them more than any rakkida. 

“I thought they’d never let me escape!” Her voice was a raspy whisper as she took her seat with the other Skeksis. “All night long, all their vile little hands all over me! Measuring, clipping, _poking_ …”

“And now your ordeal is over,” skekZok whispered back. “So stop complaining and don’t interrupt the ceremony.”

* * *

Among smaller clans, like the Spriton and Grottan, the maudra officiated her people’s weddings. The Vapra were too numerous (and the All-Maudra’s time too valuable) for their ruler to do this, but she naturally made an exception for her own children. 

Serulyn stood before the Kira-Staba now. Her younger children scattered baskets of fresh evergreen leaves along a path in front of her, from left to right for seven paces. 

At one end of the path stood the princess, wearing a gown of silver-blue velvet under a gauzy white cloak embroidered with the markings of a unamoth chrysalis. A delicate gold tiara held back her pale hair, and she’d set it with three of the Kira-Staba’s shed blossoms, a decoration that was said to bring good luck. Paval stood by her side; a spouse-to-be was traditionally accompanied by both parents, but with his wife officiating, he was escorting his daughter alone. 

Her intended stood at the opposite end, in a matching chrysalis-patterned cloak and a tunic of deep violet brocade. He’d tucked a Kira-Staba blossom into his plumed hat, and had braided another into a lock of his hair. By his side stood a very elderly Gelfling couple. 

“They look rather old to have a child his age,” skekZok quietly remarked to his companions. 

“Citadel gossip has it that the young fellow’s parents perished in a shipwreck some trine ago,” skekOk whispered back. “Those are his grandparents.” 

“His grandmother is a _witch,_ ” skekLach hissed. “She made the others pour evil potions on me!” 

Up close, the two other Skeksis could see that the Vapra hadn’t stopped at making the Collector a new dress. They’d also tried to improve her face, by sponging the pustules clean and caking her skin in a layer of thick powder to smooth it out. Some especially brave Vapran had even gone as far as to paint her eyelids with a swath of glitter. 

SkekOk smirked. “If she _is_ a witch, she must be a powerful one. You are ... quite the vision.” 

The Collector gave him a dirty look. “They almost took my eyes out with their vicious little brushes! I’ll probably get sick from these poisons they put on me. I can feel my pustules flaring up -”

“Will you both be quiet!” skekZok growled, drawing looks from several of the Gelfling around them. 

A musician played a note on an ivorywood horn. On cue, the spouses-to-be walked three paces forward, until they stood together in front of the All-Maudra. 

“Family, friends, and most honored Lords,” Serulyn addressed everyone, “we gather this day, in the light of the suns and the Waystar Tree, to witness two lives join as one. Let the children speak their names before Thra.” 

The princess bowed her head. “Renala, daughter of the Vapra.” 

Her intended bowed in turn. “Osfen, son of the Vapra.” 

“Then let Thra have heard you,” declared Serulyn. “Now, let the elders speak for their families.” 

She gave Paval a small nod, and he spoke first, as they had rehearsed. “I speak for my daughter, and give our family’s blessing.”

“We speak for our grandson,” Osfen’s grandmother replied, “and give our family’s blessing.” 

“Then let Thra have heard your blessings, and let none deny them.” 

At the All-Maudra’s signal, one of her sons brought out an intricate silver-and-glass bowl, with two tiny cups resting in holders on either side. The water in the bowl was cloudy with powdered sugarwood. As Serulyn continued to speak rites, Renala and Osfen each lifted a cup, scooped up some of the water, and drank it down in one swallow. 

“What are they doing that for?” skekLach whispered. 

SkekZok did not look at her. “It’s symbolic. They share the water as they intend to share their lives." 

"And the sugarwood promises the life to come will be sweet,” skekOk added.

The Collector made a derisive sound. “If only it were that easy.” 

The ceremony continued on. The couple joined hands, the way they would in a dreamfast, and spoke their vows to each other. A promise to love, to protect, and to sing the song of their lives as one, until their time came to return to Thra. 

Once the vows were finished, Paval and Osfen’s grandparents each removed their child’s chrysalis-patterned cloak. With the young couple still holding hands, the three elders draped a single, larger cloak, colored and decorated to resemble the wings of a full-grown unamoth, across the pair’s shoulders. 

As the final act of the ceremony, the All-Maudra took the bowl from her son, and poured the remaining sugarwood-water over the roots of the Kira-Staba. “As the water nourishes this tree, so may your bond nourish your Tree of Life. In the Song of Thra, I proclaim you married.” She smiled at her daughter and new son-in-law. “You may seal it with a kiss.” 

And they did so, embracing each other as their loved ones cheered. 

SkekLach rolled her eyes when she noticed skekOk cheering as well, a soppy smile on his face. The Scroll-Keeper was far more romantic than was good for him; she shouldn’t be surprised he was getting sentimental over a couple of Gelfling they didn’t even know. 

Still … 

SkekLach had spent most of the night with Renala and her family. She’d seen how nervous the Gelfling girl was, and how quick her loved ones were to comfort and reassure her. How very different from life among the Skeksis, where any display of weakness would be an excuse to pick on the unlucky one. 

It was a foolish fancy, and it passed quickly. But just for a moment, skekLach found herself wishing she could have that kind of love. 

* * *

With the wedding itself concluded, the rest of the day was given over to celebration. 

All through the Citadel, Gelfling feasted and made merry. As the Scroll-Keeper had predicted, the royal chefs had not skimped on the banquet table, and nobles and servants alike helped themselves to the sweet and savory delicacies on display. Musicians and song-tellers filled the halls with their melodies, and guests young and old happily danced along. Even the Ritual-Master found himself bobbing his head to the strumming of a particularly enthusiastic lutist. 

“We ought to bring some of these performers back to the Castle,” he said, as the three of them stood by a tall stained glass window, watching the party. “They’re certainly more refined than the Podlings.”

“Or that dreadful noise machine the Emperor’s so fond of,” skekOk agreed. Turning to skekLach, he half-joked, “Perhaps we could request a few musicians as part of the tithes. They might be a tight fit in the carriage, but we could bring an attachment next time.” 

SkekLach did not answer him. She’d been quiet ever since the wedding was over, without so much as a grumble, and it was making the Scroll-Keeper a little perturbed. 

One of Renala’s cousins approached, with a graceful bow. “My Lords, the All-Maudra has asked if the Lord Ritual-Master would be willing to come offer a blessing for the newlyweds. Of course,” he added, still bowing, “she will understand if his time cannot be spared, but his divine voice would surely be a promise of good fortune for our future All-Maudra and her legacy.” 

SkekZok wore the grin of someone who knows they are being flattered, but likes the flattery anyway. “It would be my pleasure.” He followed the youth away, already enjoying the thought of having the most powerful Gelfling in the Empire fawn over him and his words. 

Once they were alone on the edge of the party, skekOk turned to the Collector again. 

“What _is_ troubling you? It’s not like you to go this long without complaining about something.” He smirked. “I thought for sure you’d at least comment on that last tray of wine being far too musty.” 

She wrinkled her beak, making cracks spread through the layer of powder. “It _did_ taste like old bathwater.” 

“There now,” he chuckled, “ _that’s_ the skekLach I know.” 

Still frowning, she looked out the window at the mountains and sea. “... Up in the grove, you said I was a vision. What did you mean by that?” 

He hesitated. “I didn’t know what else to say. I’ve never seen you like this before, and I never expected I would.” 

“... Do you like me better this way?” She gestured to her gown and makeup. “All painted and dressed up? Like the Ornamentalist? Like a Vapran princess?” 

_Now_ skekOk understood what was troubling her. 

“Why on all of Thra would you think that?” He clasped her hand. “If I wanted a mate covered in powder and frills, I’d mate with one of the Gourmand’s sugar pastries.” 

That, at last, got a smile out of her. “Do you really mean that?”

“Absolutely!” His voice was full of sincerity, an unusual thing for the often less-than-honest Scroll-Keeper. “My dear, one of the things I admire most about you is that you _don’t_ care about appearances. You’re a Skeksis of action. You say what you truly think, and you don’t shy away from getting your talons dirty.” 

“And I’m sure you like being the more handsome one, too.” 

“Mm, perhaps. But I’d still choose you, even if you _were_ the most beautiful of us.” He nosed past the silk wimple so he could whisper in her ear. “You have no idea how ravishing you looked after fighting those rakkida. Your eyes were on fire, just like when you used to join the General in battle. If skekZok hadn’t been in the carriage with us, I would have pounced on you then and there.” 

A warmth she hadn't felt in a long while filled her heart (and other regions). She gave a raspy purr, and preened the tip of her beak through his graying hair. 

They stayed there for some moments, embracing in the light of the afternoon suns. Finally, as another round of music wafted in from the main hall, skekLach looked up at her mate. “I think I promised you a dance?”

“I seem to recall it. But first, why don’t I help you get rid of some of that ridiculous powder?”

She laughed. “Please do! I would’ve scrubbed it off already, but the Gelfling took all my handkerchiefs.” 

SkekOk pulled out his own handkerchief, licked it wet, and set to wiping skekLach’s face. It wasn’t enough to clean off every trace of makeup, but he was satisfied with seeing her skin start to regain its familiar shade of gray-green. For now, the patch of small pustules even stayed dry. 

“We really ought to find you a remedy for those before they get worse,” he remarked. “Why don’t we pay a visit to the apothecary before we leave tomorrow?” 

She sniffed. “The Scientist couldn’t explain them. What makes you think a Gelfling can help?”

“Maybe not _any_ Gelfling, but the Vapra are the most learned of all the clans. It can’t do any harm to ask, can it?”

“... I suppose not. As long as we don’t have to stay too much longer.” 

With that, she took his hand again, and they began to dance. 

“Do you ever think we should have a ceremony like this?” he asked as they circled and swayed in each other’s arms. “Something to declare before all of Thra that we belong to each other?” 

She licked the edge of his jaw. “What for? Everyone who matters already knows I’ve collected you. If anyone tries to take what’s mine, I’ll take their head.” 

He chortled. “Then I’ll just have to keep you.” 

As they went on dancing and the suns began to set, skekLach remembered her earlier thought that it might be nice to have a loving family the way so many Gelfling did. What foolishness _that_ had been. 

She was a Skeksis, Lord of the Crystal, feared and worshipped by all lesser creatures (and those who had not feared and worshipped sufficiently had died for it). She had the respect of those Skeksis whose opinions she cared about, and the love of the one she cared about most. She might be growing old now, but in less than three hundred trine the Great Conjunction would give them all true immortality. 

No more pustules. No more weak eyes. No more gray hair, aching joints, or getting winded from a brief skirmish. She and skekOk would be young, strong, and _together_ forever. 

_Though I will miss his spectacles,_ she thought. It would go to his head if she ever told him, but they _were_ awfully cute. 

* * *

Several days later, when they finally made it back to the Castle, skekLach found the courage to suggest to the Emperor that they reduce the tithing ceremonies to once a trine. The Vapra had shown extraordinary generosity to the Collector in her time of need, even beyond what was expected of all Gelfling toward their Lords - surely they’d earned a little generosity toward their people in return? 

(And it wasn’t as if the _amount_ of offerings would be any less, she pointed out. The Gelfling would give just as much, just all at once instead of spread out over each season.) 

It was a good argument, she thought, but she was still surprised to hear skekSo say he’d consider it. 

“Well done!” skekOk told her outside the throne room. “You made quite the impression on our Emperor.” 

“Or at least, _this_ did.” SkekEkt gestured with painted talons at the gown skekLach was still wearing. “I can’t imagine how you tolerated the Gelfling doing this to you! You’re a braver Skeksis than I thought. Why, if _I’d_ been there -”

He spluttered in surprise as skekLach threw her beribboned wimple in his face. 

“Well, you _weren’t._ And I’m never letting a Gelfling touch me again. At least when _you_ tailor me, you listen to what I like.” 

She headed for her room, shredding off bits of gauze and beading as she went. By the time she reached it, the gown the Vapra had worked so hard to make in one night hung in tatters. She left it where it fell on the floor, and pulled on one of her familiar pouch-covered robes and a spare cowl. Only then, in the garments she’d always chosen for herself, did the Collector truly _feel_ like herself again. 

But she did keep the necklace. 

* * *

**The End**


End file.
